Out of the Slums
by DracoGinny5ever
Summary: If I hadn't met you, I'd never have seen these foreign lands or known that another world existed out of the slums. If I hadn't met you, that great love only you could wake would have laid unexplored forever. If I hadn't met you, I might have even still been alive. But if I hadn't met you, I never would have lived at all. Gus/Max
1. Out of the Slums

**A/N: I wrote this for the lovely ZenyZootSuit who loves Max/Gus as much as I do :). Also, I should probably add that I don't own breaking bad.  
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**Out of the Slums  
**

Another dull morning, horribly identical to all those other dull mornings before it woke Max from his slumber, the cold ripping him from his dreams and shoving his face into reality that he relished in forgetting. Those first few seconds waking up were always so difficult in such a miserable existence. Babies cried weakly in cardboard refuges all around him. Feral dogs picked halfheartedly at food deemed too inedible for even the starving. And worse than anything was the cold. Cold that sat in your bones and tormented your skin, knowing you were powerless to stop it. Cold that mocked you as you tried your damndest to fight it. Cold that followed you even in your deepest sleep.

Those few moments of inaction and relative calm after waking up in the morning could let you freeze to death, if you dwelled on them. And Max had known this existence long enough that he never did.

He sat upright and bolted out of his sleeping bag. Staying in bed all day would never help him, no matter how much he wanted to. He threw on the clothes nearest him that had been scattered on the floor and packed them on layer by layer. The skies were gray and the air hung heavily with moisture. A sure sign of impending rain.

It wouldn't be so bad, Max reminded himself. As of late, he had taken to sitting underneath the ledge of a local business on the outskirts of town. The sympathetic owner had turned a blind eye to the supposed "unsightliness" of allowing a beggar so nearby, even going so far as to offer a small donation and a bit of coffee or bread whenever he was around. Max had taken to begging there whenever he was physically able, and even on some days when he wasn't.

The hike from the edge of the mountains where the slums were located was always something daunting so early and so cold in the morning. Despite the depleted rags of cloth that Max had enveloped himself with earlier, the chill seeped under his skin and into his bones and made him shiver. He didn't want to walk; whatever storm was coming into the city was sending increasingly frequent gusts of wind in the opposite direction that he was heading. But he had no choice. He bared his head and braved his way, slowly but surely, towards town.

He hadn't dared to hope that the heat his body exerted from walking would make him warmer. He was so thin and there was hardly enough fat on his body to generate heat to begin with. He had at least hoped, however, that it would have offered him some protection from the elements during his trek.

He couldn't have been more wrong.

By the time he reached his destination, almost two hours after he had left his 'home,' his fingers were immoble, frozen. The tears the wind coaxed from his eyes felt like ice by the time they reached his nose. He wrestled his bag and his blankets from his back and set up shop in the usual corner where he sat. He noticed with dismay that the rain, which had mercifully held itself back during his commute, was falling now in a slow, mocking drizzle. To make matters worse, the shop owner was nowhere to be found and neither, it seemed, were his usual patrons. Perhaps the people who usually shopped or ate or did business in this centralized district had had the sense to stay indoors and away from the storm today. Sense it seemed that Max always lacked.

He watched miserably as the nonexistent crowd trickled steadily out of the city. A few people looked at him with pity, some even tossed a few pesos into his outstretched hands. But most continued on their way without noticing him. Some looked at him quickly before ignoring him, and others still glanced repeatedly his way as if he were a kind of grotesque bug marring their view of the city. Max didn't have the energy to let this bother him anymore. He was used to it.

He wouldn't have been there more than an hour before it started to rain in earnest. The swollen grey clouds released their liquid fury to thunderous applause and lightening. Max watched miserably as the rain chased all the other civilized people away, and any chance of a bit of food or money was chased away with them.

Coming here today had been a mistake, he realized. A complete waste. For a brief moment, he contemplated heading back to his home early. _Do I dare risk walking so far with such awful weather?_

He decidedly didn't much like the idea of walking for hours in the pouring rain, and deemed it best to try and stay and wait out the storm.

Shivering, he huddled tighter into his tattered blankets. He leaned back as hard as he could against the brick wall of the shop, trying to fit as much of himself under the sloping roof, which jutted about two feet out from the perimeter of the building. It didn't entirely protect him from the storm, but it did keep him from getting completely drenched. At this point, it was really all he could ask for.

After what felt like hours of dropping temperatures and darkening skies, Max decided he could stand it no longer. Begrudgingly, he rolled his soaked blankets into tight bundles and fastened them with worn rope to his back. He would have stood up to his full height and made off immediately, if it wasn't for the cool set of footsteps he heard coming his way. _Not his way_, he reasoned, rather, to the shop at his back. He could hardly pass up a possible 'business' opportunity, regardless.

Without looking up, he mustered his most pathetic expression possible. It wasn't hard. Today had been more miserable than most days in his miserable existence, and he merely had to relax and let the torture on the inside show on his face.

He had prepared a sob speech, the same one he used on nearly every passerby who looked the slightest bit sympathetic. Or the slightest bit stupid.

He looked up, but before he could open his mouth, his breath caught in his throat.

The man who stood before him was immaculate, much more well dressed than any of the others in this district, with smartly buzzed hair and fine gold rim glasses framing his kind eyes. To his credit, the man seemed every bit as startled as Max was. He stood awkwardly in front of him, hand gripped on the door of the shop as if he had been about to enter and had then changed his mind. He looked at Max, really looked him over, with none of the animosity that he was accustomed to. If anything, he merely looked curious, and perhaps, a little bit sad.

Max returned the man's gaze with a quizzical look of his own. As much as he felt he could stare at this strange man forever, the overwhelming hunger in his belly took precedence. He spared the man his sob speech, though, and merely held out his hands.

The man, tall and dark and so professional looking, stared at Max's outstretched hands and his smile faltered. Max's heart dropped. He hadn't wanted to offend him by asking for money. But he was so hungry.

To his surprise, and to his relief, the man's hand went from the door to his pocket. He pulled out a handfull of notes and thrust them into Max's palm . With another curious look at Max, and the hint of a smile to match it, he turned on his heel and walked back up the street to the other side of the city, leaving whatever business he had had at the shop for another time.

Max watched the man's quick, crisp strides as he walked away from him without a look back and without a goodbye. He looked at the notes in his hand and cradled them with an almost loving reverence. With this money, he could eat for a week. With this money, his day had at last become something more than a waste. With this money, he might, just for a few moments, know what it felt like to not be starving again.

He looked once more at the place where the benevolent man had stood. He hadn't said goodbye, but he thanked his lucky stars for his apparently brilliant decision to choose this very spot to beg. Perhaps it was just the money, but some small part of him yearned to see the man once more, yearned to really look at his kind, dark face again.

_Who was he? What was he doing here? Why have I never seen him before?_

Max was alight with questions. He went home more optimistic than he had felt in ages, grateful for the generous donation and growing ever more curious about the man who had given it to him.


	2. Unexpected Benefactor

The next day, Max woke up still thinking about his strange benefactor from the day before. _Who was he?_ He couldn't stop wondering. _And will I ever see him again?_

At the time, Max was convinced that his fascination with this man stemmed solely from the money. It had been so much. On a good day, he might receive a sandwich or a few extra pesos from someone who had seen him before or spoken with him regularly. But a week's salary? An entire week's salary, from someone who had never crossed paths with him in his life? That was unheard of.

It wouldn't be until later, much later, that Max would sort through his feelings and realize that there was something about the man himself that fascinated him. Something that he felt drawn to that would have been there even if money hadn't entered into the equation. Was it his kind eyes? His caring nature? His immaculate appearance and his mysterious business in the city?

_No, _Max reminded himself firmly. _Just the money. Nothing more. _

And so he began his solitary trek back to the city. He had been so bewildered by receiving such a large sum at once that he hadn't even had time to spend it yet. It sat now in the pocket of one of the shirts he wore beneath his ragged jacket; he hadn't dared to try and hide it somewhere in the slums for fear that someone even more desperate and hungry than he was would steal it.

_I'll spend it on a nice meal tonight. _ He licked his lips and his stomach rumbled at the appetizing thought.

With something to look forward to for the first time in a long while, the journey to the city seemed quicker than normal. Max arrived at his usual stop and set up shop a little after eight in the morning. He coughed a little as a dry wind swept by him, mercifully much warmer than it had been the day before.

He unrolled his blanket and plopped down on top of it, watching the city come to life and wake up for the new morning. The shop owner had not yet arrived, but someone walked by and handed Max a few pesos anyway.

He shook his head in thanks. And then he coughed again.

Business was pretty steady that morning, perhaps even more so since people seemed to want to make up for whatever tasks they had left unattended yesterday. While the vast majority of passerby walked by Max without incident, several generous souls offered him smiles and donations.

He was pleased. The sun was starting to shine in earnest, its rays elevating Max to a purely optimistic mood.

He felt a slight tickle in his chest that he couldn't ignore, proceeded to cough again, and his good mood vanished in an instant. For a normal person, the thought of getting sick was a mere nuisance. For Max, it was terrifying. Already the situation of those living in the slums was so precarious that it didn't take much more than a common cold to wipe someone out. Or to spread to someone close to them. Someone they loved.

Max was both fortunate and unfortunate that he had lived by himself. If he got sick, truly sick, he would hopefully be able to quell the spread of his illness. But this also meant that, whatever he had, he would have to suffer through it alone.

As the day wore on, the tickle in his chest had given way to a painful, constricting sensation. Max found himself erupting into coughing fits several times an hour. He had hoped that, at the very least, people and their wallets would take pity on him and. In reality though, more and more people stayed away.

He swore under his breath, cursing himself for being too ambitious yesterday. _Would today be another waste?_ He couldn't believe his poor luck. Receiving such a huge sum out of the blue the day before only to become too sick to appreciate it all now.

But his luck hadn't run out. Not just yet. After one particularly nasty coughing fit, he looked up and, with great pleasure, noticed an immaculately dressed man in the distance walking towards him with purpose.

Max rubbed his eyes, not daring to believe them yet, and squinted at the rapidly approaching stranger. He wore a crisp, off white business suit and held a secretive looking briefcase in his left hand. He seemed preoccupied, as if he were desperately in need of something. Yet he acted patiently kind all the same.

His eyes widened happily and he smiled as he saw Max. It sent a bolt of excitement through Max, though he couldn't immediately understand why. He offered a tentative smile of his own in return.

And then he coughed again.

The man raised his eyebrows.

"You're sick," he stated in concern.

It was the first time Max had ever heard him speak, and he found himself soothed by his voice. Smooth, melodic. As captivating as the man himself.

Max buried those feelings once more. _Captivated? _ _I'm hardly captivated. _ He scolded himself in confusion. _Where did that come from?_

He opened his mouth to thank the man, but his shyness got the best of him.

The man chuckled.

"What is your name?" he asked Max.

"Me? I – I'm Max," he croaked before erupting in coughs again.

The man shook his head again in pity.

"Well, Max, I hate that you are so ill. Please, have this," he placed a stack of money, at least twice as much as he had offered yesterday, into Max's reluctant palms.

"But, sir!" Max spluttered. For as poor as he was, he still had a sense of pride. He felt strange accepting such a large sum, even though he wanted it so desperately.

"Please," the man smiled. "Call me Gus."

"Gus," Max whispered quietly. "Gus. I cannot begin to thank you enough."

"The pleasure is all mine, believe me." Gus squinted and looked into the shop, once again preoccupied. "I have some…business to attend to in here. But I would love for you to join me for dinner tonight. You don't look well, and I would hate to you to have to face the elements alone and on the streets."

Max was too stunned to respond.

Gus winked paternally at him.

"Fantastic. I will see you in one hour."

And with that, he opened the door to the shop, leaving an incredibly confused and an even more grateful Max behind him.


End file.
